Eowyn Chronicles, Part 3
by iron orchid
Summary: AU Eowyn's personal account of her life after the events of Return of the King. Contains speculation of what became of the entwives.


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Part 3 - Chapter 1 Premonitions

We continued the argument begun in our bed chamber, (where I stuffed some gifts for Lothi in a saddle bag), to my dressing room (where I crammed in some warm comfortable traveling clothes), and through the pantry, (where I retrieved from Sobak a four day food supply for myself and my escort), to the stables. No, I could not wait another month to make this journey. I was needed back here in the spring! Could he not remember, I promised to be in Edoras for the birth? If he wished to come when the council was concluded, I would await his arrival there, but I saw no need for his personal escort now. Why now? Had I not had made this trip scores of times without him? Eomer and Lothi expected me to come for the birth, and after all, a baby does not wait.

He took gentle hold of my shoulders then, to focus my attention. I gazed into his warm gray eyes, so penetrating and steady. He avowed he was done with pleading, he only wanted me to take extra care. Would I promise to stay close to my escort? Would I keep to the road? Would I make camp an hour before dusk?

"Yes, yes, YES, Fara, have I not already said as much?" I immediately began to regret my temper. I modulated my voice.

"You know I lack the patience for waiting, yet you delay me at the most provoking of times. But I am sorry for the force of my words ..."

He exhaled loudly.

"You CAN not wait. You DO not wait. You WILL not wait. Long have I striven to accept this, dearest lady wife. But I could not forgive myself if anything were to happen to you."

"What are you saying, husband, did you see something?"

He was hesitant with a reply. His eyes shifted away.

"Nothing I can name. I see only something is wrong ... some darkness."

"Perhaps something will go amiss with the birth! All the more reason for me to leave in haste."

"No ... no, the birth will go well. Lothiriel, I think, will need extra time to recover, though ... and the child IS a girl this time. "

I knew not to question his auguries. They would both be pleased to welcome a daughter. I felt only impatience with his vague unease on my behalf, however. His last dire premonition produced nothing worse than Aldamir's being unhorsed with a broken wrist.

"Well then, you may come to Edoras when the council is over, and whatever it is that is wrong, you can make it right again," I concluded. I did not mean then to bind him to such a burden.

My memory of our parting that morning, when he followed me right into the stables, will remain ever clear in my mind. Each time I woke in captivity began with a vision of it. My lord husband had worn an old hole-ridden ranger's cloak he still

favored which only underscored his lordly bearing. I never tired of observing his agile movements and assured skill, whatever work he went about. He appeared strong and energetic, little older than when first we met. I was very glad now for the difference in our years, as I was not blessed with his Numenorian longevity. It seemed to me that in the past few years I had overtaken him in aging. His head bent over as he fussed with my tack, inspected my steed, its shanks and hooves. I scolded him that the stable master himself had seen to these tasks already.

"You know his eyesight is failing, dearest wife, he may have missed something." He tightened a strap unnecessarily, adjusted a pack that was already secure, and rose surprised to meet my fond gaze.

"Husband dear, there is only one more delay I will gladly suffer," I smiled, reaching forward to embrace him.

The journey from Minas Estel to Edoras passed uneventfully enough, but I

arrived to worrisome news. Queen Lothiriel had a quick birth, and though the babe thrived, child bed fever almost claimed the mother. Upon examination, I saw strong signs she had already taken an upward turn, yet my brother hung on my arrival as their deliverance.

"Sister, you must save them both!" he beseeched, his face a mask of misery.

"Your healers have done all necessary, dear brother, her fever breaks. You must rest assured. Lothi will be well. And the babe thrives. Finally a girl! How will she be named?"

"Leofa, she will be called," his great grin appeared. "Did you see her hair? None of the boys had so much! But I am so sorry. You must eat now. And sleep. How was your journey?"

"It was fine riding weather."

We were too exhausted to make much small talk, and lapsed soon into sharing a quiet supper.

Chapter 2 The Face

I stayed four weeks at Edoras. Queen Lothriel was recovering well. She was delighted to hold a daughter after bearing four sons, fine and strong though they were. Indeed this child was a belated treasure to both parents, who had thought their family complete. I knew my visit cheered Lothi, yet she had long ago established deep friendships among the Rohrrim women, and my attendance here was more of a tradition than a necessity. These days I did not like to be gone from Minas Estel so long. The youngest three of our children were at an age where they would have been scandalized to imagine I thought they were not as completely independent as their older siblings, yet they lacked the judgment and experience to be unsupervised without mischief or mishap. Also, the foaling would begin soon, and though Aldor had three able assistants, (Malbeth more than qualified to assume duties as master), I liked to greet the new foals myself.

I waited, yes, impatiently, for Fara to arrive. Instead there was a message that the council would not disperse for several days more. I sent with the messenger a reply that I would then begin my return journey to Emyn Arnen the following day.

I went to tell my brother of my intentions. He was in his private council chamber with Gamling, leaning over a map discussing a future endeavor. As I was making small talk to the First Marshall about his family and holdings, I stood near the map at such an angle that the topology of the lower right hand corner appeared to resemble a face. I peered closer. What is this? The Falls Of Rauros? And here are the seats of seeing and hearing on either side of the Anduin. This is Emyn Muil, is it not brother? Gamling and my brother exchanged an indulgent smile over my head, which I caught, looking up at Eomer once more.

"Eomer, I need a copy of this Map!"

I had been mulling a puzzle in my mind these many years, and felt it's

solution was always just out of my grasp. I felt like a child trying to examine a soap bubble which burst the moment I reached for it. It was from the diary I recovered from my Uncle Theoden's rooms, but not written in his hand. When my husband was establishing his library in Minas Estel, a few years after we settled, I remembered the diary and showed it to him. Fara began translating it for me, from the Sindarin. He was reluctant to share most of it. Much was concerned with sorcery - incantations for compellings, for obscurings, for diverting nature and normal growth into abominations which could be controlled for evil purposes. My husband shook his head,

"Eowyn, we must shun knowledge of such things. This has nothing to do with your Uncle." We came to the same conclusion. Grima had somehow gotten this information from Saruman, whether taught, stolen or chanced upon, we did not know.

"We must destroy it." He resolved. But first, he reasoned, he would read it through

for references pertaining to the land itself. It had been many years since Sauron fell, and we were all frustrated by the continued barrenness of Mordor. Perhaps Saruman also had some knowledge of it. Should not the land show some signs of revival by now? I checked on Fara's translating progress later in the day, and he furrowed his brow, dispirited.

"No, nothing about the land. But here is something which will interest you." He went to a part he had marked with a straw. It referred to a secret place of captivity for the Ent-wives where Saruman was devising some of his manipulations. The purpose was not stated, but clearly it obsessed Grima. He was trying to work out the location of the prison from cryptic information given by another of Saruman's apprentices he referred to as Serkewyth. It appeared that she withheld the location but enticed him with clues.

"It should be as clear to you as the wen on your face." she concluded.

I shuddered remembering an irregular mark near his nose on his left cheek. Having to recall his face at all brought back a loathsome shame. (From the mouth of dear Frodo himself, I heard witness of Grima's death, yet the fearful memory of his wickedness persisted.) This traitorous Worm loomed ever closer and I was powerless to resist his advances. It was not attraction, never that! It was a spell of compelling. I would have succumbed but for what I thought was the fool enjoying the power of a prolonged game of cat and mouse. What he did not foresee was the arrival of two brothers from Gondor ... Fara's voice brought me back.

"If we could solve this mystery, dear wife, you would know what happened to the Entwives, as you often wonder."

"Perhaps, but if the Entwives were imprisoned by Saruman, why were they not able to free themselves when he fell?" I wondered.

"It is often the way of riddles to grow more riddles," my husband reflected.

"Should not the Ents be told of their wives fate?"

"I have been considering this. What would it gain them but fresh misery? We do not even know of it's veracity. If, one day, we can untangle the layers of meaning here and discover the location of their captivity, we will go to them."

It was foolish of me to suppose that I could solve this enigma where my husband could not. He was often sought out for his keen insight and reasoning ability. He had many diverse concerns and responsibilities in those years, and this was, for him, but a small distraction. Yet this one conundrum compelled me. We agreed to destroy the book, but not before I tore out the pages which referred to the Ent-wives. He saw me do it, but withheld his censure. I was well familiar with the vocabulary of his expressions by now. He disapproved, but would not say more.

But now, here on the map in Eomer's council chamber was - with a little imagination - the face. The Tol Brandir was the nose. The seats of Seeing and Hearing were the eyes, The Rauros Falls were the gaping mouth. Surrounding those landmarks, Emyn Muil, the lines showing a coruscation of steeply peaked rocky hills, were the cheeks. And this brown dot at the edge of the cheek, near the Tol Brandir, was a crater. Like a wen. I looked at the whole of the map. But this was not far at all from the Fangorn! All these ages they have been so close!

Eomer gave me the map itself. It was a copy of an original, carefully archived. My unnamed enthusiasm seemed to amuse him, but he thought no more of it for a time. I did not share with him my purpose or urgency. I did not want the embarrassment of having to give an explanation if I was wrong.

In darkness and despair have I pondered my next impulse. I simply left Melduseld directly for the stables, where I saddled my horse and rode off. I did not summon my escort. I did not stay to any road. I did not make camp before sunset, but

rode through the night. I was not traveling to or from Ithilien, so I did not connect this to

Faramir's foreboding. At the time it simply did not signify. I have had more than enough time in reflection to reconstruct what my urgency was then. I knew that Saruman captured the Entwives so long ago. I could not bear to have the key to their freedom, and allow their captivity one more unnecessary moment.

Had I finally deluded myself into believing the Ballad of the Shield Maiden? Did I wish to merit my own legend? Truthfully, I did not think in terms of a heroic rescue. I assumed I would find the location, break down some kind of barrier, or open some kind of chink, and they would be free. Yes, I brought my sword and daggers. In open country, it is prudent, even now. No, I did not sense a trap.

Chapter 3 Ensnared

The Emyn Muil is a maze of jagged angled rocky hills. The rock itself is basalt: hard, dense. very black and shiny. Fara once told me that this type of rock is made from the action of a volcano hardening. I have never seen one closer, but for many miles, we felt the whole earth shake when Barhad-Dur collapsed. Beneath the Emyn Muil volcanic gasses hallowed out a subterranean network of tunnels and chambers. The force required to do this is fearsome to contemplate. Some chambers were quite large, almost as large as the glittering caves behind Helm's Deep. Some were claustrophobically small, seeming smaller by the irregular protruding shards of basalt one should avoid. The skin is sliced painfully on these and the jagged edges do not heal well.

I found the crater indicated on the map. Dismounting carefully, I searched for any sign of a pen or wall, or any indication of a prison.

Nothing, no one.

I sat, trying to remember the words from those torn pages. Many of them never made sense to Fara and I. We had engaged many others willing to attempt a theory. Elessar himself. Merry and Pippin, who had some experience with Ents, at least. Legolas and some of the other elves who left Mirkwood to dwell in upper Ithilien. Alas, Gandalf was gone by the time I thought to ask Fara to translate the diary. Strange that it came down to my knowing a face so well. A face that I had tried so hard to forget.

Just for a moment, I closed my eyes, to search my memory for anything else that loathsome visage might reveal. When I opened them, the rock was shimmering all around me and there stood before me a woman. Her extravagant gown likewise shimmered and pulsed with light and many colors, but the effect was not beautiful, rather painful and nauseating. As the effect gradually faded, I saw we were no longer above the rock, but inside it.

The woman came forward and smiled. She was youthful and her face and form had the exaggerated beauty of one obsessed with grooming. Her bowed mouth and the lids of her gray eyes were painted and her dark hair was elaborately coifed. She appeared a strange caricature of a Gondorian noblewoman. Also, the skin of her head and neck was meticulously powdered, while the skin on her hands seemed to have a pale green cast.

Three men there were with her, young and hale, but deferential and subservient in their bearing. One of them also had a faint pale green cast to his skin, unlike any pigment I had seen. I speculated whether it was an inherited trait or the effect of a malady.

"The WHITE Lady of Rohan." It was neither a question nor a greeting, but something between an accusation and a private joke.

"I am Eowyn, Lady of Emyn Arnen and Princess of Ithilien." I bowed carefully. Since she had obviously invested so much in courtly appearance, I hoped she would respond to courtly manners and identify herself. I wondered could she be Serkewyth, but this woman seemed to be a least a generation younger than Grima, had he lived.

"You are NOTHING! " she spat. "You will not speak unless I permit it!"

She made a slight hand signal and one of the men struck me behind the knees, so that I fell forward. The others wrenched away my sword belt, and took off my boots,

removing my daggers. The first one then bound my hands behind my back. I did not

waste effort in resistance, but rather tried to assess the situation for any advantage, as Faramir had taught me to do, but I saw none.

"Well, you are not so powerful or clever as the ballads claim. And certainly not fair now, if ever you were," she gloated.

I attempted to mask my fury, which she seemed determine to provoke. I struggled to my feet searching for a strategy by which to regain a weapon. I was also thinking about her motives. If the cause of her anger was my discovering her hideaway, why not just be rid of me? Her vehemence seemed more personally motivated. I had grown inured to the occasional envy of other women for my fortune or position, but this I could hardly ignore.

"You would not have me believe you are here by chance, I trust. So? You must enlighten me, Madam, to what do I owe the honor of your visit ?"

"I have come seeking the Entwives" I replied quietly.

"Entwives? Hmm ... have I misplaced any Entwives? I may have some hereabouts, and soon I may allow you to join them. But tell me, why do you come seeking them now?"

I sensed that my response to this question was crucial. I tried to compose a reply that would not fuel her anger, but I had little to go on. She took offense at my delay.

"No time for dissembling!" she hissed.

"I only just discovered the way to them."

"How!"

"I deduced it from a notebook left in Melduseld."

"You lie!" She came forward and struck me hard on the face, her long nails raking my cheek.

"You used a Palantir. Which one?" She seemed to triumph in the certainty of this.

"No! It was a notebook. I think Grima left it behind."

"Grima!"

This enraged her. She signaled again. I fell forward, this time harder, with no hands to break my fall. My lip was split and my knees were sliced by the sharp rock.

"You were unworthy of his pathetic infatuation. He squandered his focus on you when together we could have taken over Orthanc. We had a rare advantage, when Saruman fell. But Grima still believed that Saruman would retrieve you and make good his reward." This was astounding! Now I understood her wrath, but the fact that she would expose this information was equally disquieting. She had no fear of my using any knowledge against her.

"His downfall was his lust, for YOU. Tell me, what sly Rhorric charm did you work on him to blind him?" ME, work a charm? Gall made me reckless, I responded loftily,

"No charm. Apparently, he simply spurned you. It happens."

She flew at me then. I was held down by two of her guards, and soon lost consciousness.

Chapter 4 Patience

Pain roused me to awareness. My head throbbed, and I was sticky with my own blood. My jaw ached and a few of my ribs were damaged. The walls of the enclosure reflected a dim pale green glow. I could not determine it's source. This was also within the rock, but another place. The walls were much higher, but the space had a barred door made to fit the irregular wall. It was surprisingly warm for below ground, and very humid. Over me the outlines of two huge objects loomed. I thought at first they might be Trolls, but the scent emanating from them was calmative. My consciousness waxed and waned. I became aware of a susurration and an answering refrain. Again and again. The rhythm sounded like conversation but much slower, with pauses in between slower yet. "

... OR WESTRON ... CAN YOU UNDERSTAND WESTRON?"

"LOOK AT HER ... RHORRIC SURELY!"

"ARE YOU VERY BROKEN?"

"DO NOT BE ALARMED."

They bent closer and I saw two pair of enormous eyes peering at me with concern.

"I speak both, Rhorric and Westron." I feared it was too difficult to understand what my swollen lips were attempting. They gave off a rustling sound, approximating relief.

"YOUR SAP FLOWS TOO FREELY. YOU MUST SLOW IT".

"I DO NOT THINK SHE CAN."

In my struggle with wakefulness and pain I feared loosing the thread of their speech. It took so long for the sounds to come. Longer still between words. I worked out that they wanted to me to will myself to stop bleeding.

"I have no control over my blood - my sap." I attempted to sit up. No, not yet. One cradled a limb gently behind my head.

"I AM CALLED DEEPROOT, WILL YOU LET US TRY TO HELP YOU?"

"I am called Eowyn." I thought to avoid the complication of titles, which I was not sure would be relevant to them. The other one began to dab my wounds gingerly with an astringent aromatic liquid, seeping from her fingertips. It stung fiercely, but began to staunch the flow of blood.

"I AM CALLED LINDENFRIEND. IF THE PAIN IS TOO GREAT, CRY OUT. NO ONE WILL HEAR YOU BUT OUR SISTERS, EAWOOM."

It was, after all, how I had pronounced my name. I tried to distract myself from the pain.

"How many of you are there here?"

ALAS, ALL OF US!

I THINK SHE MEANS THE NUMBER ... SEVENTY AND TWO.

REST NOW, EAWOOM. WE WILL TALK LATER.

I cannot say I learned the art of patience from the Entwives, but I learned to hold the thread of their conversation, which is as alike as makes little difference. I grew the knack of stringing together their slow words into thoughts while using other parts of my mind to think of other things. I tried to deflect thoughts of my husband and family, my brother and Lothi, Elessar and Arwen, those who would wonder what happened to me. But they came unbidden. I bitterly regretted my impulsiveness and disrespect for Fara's warnings. I should have known better. I trusted that they would search for me, but held little hope for success. We seemed to enter the ground through sheer rock.

The Entwives learned why I was there, but my questions about Serkewyth were answered obliquely. They feared her, but there was something more complicated - she needed something they produced, so she would not harm them outright. There was a reticence to talk about the particular properties of this thing. They called the green tinged guard "the turning one." They said his "bitter flavor" made him especially dangerous. Away from Serkewyth, he revealed the manner of arrogance ingrained. He came, in turn with the other guards, with a food tray for me. Unlike the others, he hounded me to eat.

"Lady Eowyn, do not waste this nourishment!"

And another time,

"You must eat this, or no more will come!"

And still later,

"It will not go well for you if you continue to refuse good food!"

The menacing urgency of his voice broke my concentration. I was trying to retrieve a memory of him. He appeared near the age of Elboron, but there was a hardness to his eyes and a rigidly to his posture that played at odds to his youth. He observed me expectantly. Perhaps he would be punished if I failed to eat. I tried to eat slowly through a very bruised jaw, to forestall his departure.

"Where have I seen you before?"

An expression of shame clouded his face.

"You will not remember. Eat."

"Are you not from Lossarnach?"

"Long ago."

I knew the current Lord of Lossarnach. He had two sons near in age to my oldest two. But perhaps there was another son unclaimed ...

"Who are you, a son of Gelmir's?"

"No. Just ... just eat!"

"You are his very likeness." I prodded.

"I should be," he snarled bitterly, "I am Belmir, his twin."

"Surely not, " I blurted in astonishment, "He would be fifty at least!"

"We are fifty and four. When our father, Forlong, fell at the Black Gates, Gelmir became Lord. I have not seen him since that year." His tormented eyes would not meet my gaze.

I tried to remember the last time I saw Gelmir's face. He was not often at Minas Tirith, but solicitous and kind to me when we met. His grandmother and mine were cousins. Though we did not know each other in youth, there was a distant bond of kinship.

I wondered how mirror twins could have such disparity in the process of aging. I pictured this man's face doubled.

"Yes, I remember, you were both at King Elessar's coronation, and then his wedding. After that ... they said you were lost. Belmir, did you know we are kin? My grandmother was Morwen of Lossarnach."

"I have no kin!" his shout echoed harshly. He slammed the tray against the wall and departed. Afterwards, he came less often, and when he did, he was silent.

"THE TURNING ONE IS DANGEROUS."

"SHE DOES NOT LIKE US TO SPEAK WITH HIM. BE CAREFUL."

I thought they had been asleep, but it was difficult to discern. Their eyes were often closed.

"THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE" They explained.

True, there was little to see but the black walls and vague outlines of each other. But much to relate. I told them of my life and family, their husbands' part in the battle of Isengard, the War of the Ring, the Return of the King, the restoration of the land. It seemed marvelous to them that I had tried to come to their rescue. The fact that I had failed miserably did not deter them from long ponderous overtures of thankful discourse. They were particularly interested in the failure of Mordor to regenerate. Usually they avoided talking in their own tongue when they knew me to be awake - out of consideration, I think. But they lapsed into it then. They did not hurry their speech when excited, as we do. Instead, their voices rose and fell in pitch more prominently. I waited for them to be done. It took a very long time. I waited.

Yes, they said, they thought they could help heal the land. When rescue came.

Chapter 5 Harvest Feast

As I began to heal, I strove to maintain a sense of purpose through exercise and keeping track of the passage of time and what details I could. I marked my wakings on the wall with a hidden shard of the broken tray, and called them "days" though it was an artificial designation. I did not know how long I had been there before Deeproot and Lindenfriend first woke me, but they estimated it to be about two of my days. I imagined the late rawness of winter giving way to a fresh spring in Ithilien, the falls of Emyn Arnen singing fully. I would now be nine and forty. Then the languid summer passed. Soon I pictured a vivid autumn. I dared not place my beloved husband in this landscape, nor any of my dear children.

Lindenfriend finally admitted that Serkewyth had been overseeing the captivity of the Entwives since before Orthanc fell. Originally, they had been deceived by Saruman into thinking that their husbands intended to upset the balance of growing things, by making the earth one large forest with no meadows, marshes and grasslands. This for them was the ultimate betrayal of their purpose. They were shown false visions and taken unaware. Long had they regretted mistrusting their husbands, and they remembered them with great longing.

Eventually Saruman had given Serkewyth their custodianship to concentrate his efforts on the urukai. Lindenfriend could not estimate how long she and her sisters had been held, but allowed it was many scores of seasons. Now they received nourishment from an underground stream which was tapped into barrels and brought to them. They said the water had every necessary property except sunlight. The green glow of the cave, though faint, approximated some essence which concentrated this requirement. They were far from content, away from soil and growing things. But they were glumly confident of their continued survival. They said that Serkewyth would neither destroy nor release them willingly. They were kept in cells two or three together. Alone they would die despondent, too many and they could not absorb the glow properly.

On waking late in autumn, I was aroused not with a tray, but with a soapy bucket and a bundle delivered by Belmir.

"You will wash and don this raiment," he demanded.

I unfolded an overworked gown of heavy purple velvet, inset with embroidered panels wound about with gold roping and braiding. I fought the urge to laugh outright. What absurd notion of prisoners garb was this? Belmir made an ostentatious show of turning around to approximate privacy. I stripped off one of the two the filthy shifts I had been given months before, and made an attempt to clean myself. This was a luxury infrequently offered.

"You must make haste. Lady Serkewyth awaits."

I dried myself with the dirty shift and put on the gown. It was too short, but otherwise sufficed. My bare feet stuck out below. I dragged the crude comb I was given through my hair and plaited it hurriedly.

"I am ready."

He came forward and bound my hands before me and hobbled my feet with rope. Deeproot and Lindenfriend, who had silently observed this exchange each gave their approximation of a hug. None of us knew if I would return.

As I followed Belmir through the passages, the torches on the wall revealed that he had also changed his garb. In exchange for the tunic and mail of a guard, he wore an ornate but very outmoded doublet and cloak of court dress. There was a dress sword at his hip.

From sheer obstinacy, I never gave up trying to draw him into conversation.

"You look very well today, Lord Belmir."

"You lie very poorly, Lady Eowyn," he retorted.

Carefully, I attempted to memorize the passageways, trying to be mindful of shortening my stride. I stumbled several times before I got the knack of it. After some time, wonderful scents drifted past. Presently, we came to a banquet hall.

Serkewyth was pacing near the entrance. Her raiment was jeweled and over embellished. It rankled to see my sword belted to her hip. Her frame did not suggest the musculature to wield it. Perhaps she supposed it held some power. It was of elven work, but it was not elven worked.

She followed my gaze and smiled smugly.

"Ah, the WHITE lady! Enter and be seated. You are the honored guest at our harvest feast."

I braced myself for this tedious farce. The room was festooned in tapestries

and candelabra lit brightly. The table was set for a feast indeed. Nothing was spared. This amount of preparation would have required a kitchen staff, but none was in evidence, only the two guards standing attendance.

My mouth watered betraying my attempt at passivity. The daily tray of bread and watered wine, supplemented by an occasional fruit or slice of cheese kept me just on the edge of hunger.

Belmir, it seemed, was promoted to a place at the table. He unbound my hands only and sat, restive and surly. Our hostess was seated by Belmir, and then he took a place at her side, opposite my chair. One of the guards poured wine into our goblets. Serkewyth proposed the traditional toast to the bringers of a bountiful harvest. I fought back tears as I imagined an echo of King Elessar's voice at the traditional feast at Minas Tirith. They seemed to sip the wine purposefully, perhaps so that I would realize it was not tainted with poison. Likewise, the food came from common salvers. They served themselves large portions, but none went to Serkewyth's lips, and little to Belmir's, just enough to convince me it was wholesome. It was indeed of highest quality and well prepared. I was ashamed of my desperate hunger, but did not bother to hide it.

Between them I noticed a small stoppered silver vial, from which a thick liquid was carefully measured into smaller silver vessels by Serkewyth, for herself and Belmir. I was offered none of this.

"Lady Eowyn, is it not customary to congratulate the hostess on the quality of the meal?" she scolded.

"I beg your pardon, my lady, I was not aware I had permission to speak. The meal is excellent. Thank you."

"Then it lacks for nothing?"

"The company of my family, perhaps." I said pointedly.

"Your loyalty is touching but unrequited," she simpered. Have they come to your rescue?"

Absurdly, she began to make small talk about harvest yields and the preparation of food. Apparently she held a small staff elsewhere in the caves. I made the required responses. I was intent on eating until her whim dictated otherwise.

Presently, she made great show of pouring another portion of liquid for herself. Belmir nudged his goblet toward her, but she deliberately ignored the gesture. His mouth tightened, but his eyes were hooded. He picked up his wine goblet and drank deeply. Serkewyth seemed delighted in his discomfiture. She raised her hand to the corner of his mouth and with the tip of one of her long painted fingernails, flicked away a crumb. He stifled a shudder.

This, then was the source of their youthful preservation. I had come to the realization that these two did not fit the pattern of the blessing of Numenor. Their aging process was halted much earlier, and did not seem to progress at all. This liquid. Was it somehow generated by the Entwives? All the answers to questions I had sought in the dimness of the cell seemed to become illuminated before me. Grima's obsession with finding this location. The Entwives reluctance to talk to me about Serkewyth's purpose for them. This essence came from them!

She followed my gaze to the decanter and smiled with exaggerated indulgence.

"Is there something else I can offer you perhaps?"

She her fingers played on the stopper. Belmir's eyes lifted abruptly, and he held his breath.

"Thank you, Lady Serkewyth, no. I am sated by this fine feast."

"Then you must allow me to offer you entertainment. Belmir, bind her." He retied the ropes around my wrists.

I hoped the entertainment was not singing, I was not overly fond of her shrill voice. She stood, bringing the decanter with her. She motioned me to follow her out the door and though a passageway. Belmir stayed behind. We came to a study. At the entry she shimmered and pulsed as when I had first seen her, the she grabbed my wrist and we were inside. She locked the decanter in a cabinet and spoke a charm to ward it, then turned toward the center of the room. Mounted on a platform was a large dark globe. It responded to her touch. She smirked conspiratorially and whispered, "Look!"

I knew of the seeing stones, and were wary of their power. I remembered

Denethor. It was said that no one could now use the Palantir that was replaced in the Tower of Ecthelion, locked away. It showed only Denethor's hands in the flames of his pyre. King Elessar had tried to master it and the despair he felt was so great he forbid it's further use. I knew he had long ago channeled Saruman's stone, taken from Orthanc, to draw Sauron's attention at a time of great peril for Frodo and Sam. But I knew that even that stone, kept in his private study, he had used only in a time of great need.

And then, I beheld Faramir. Very clearly. It was he. And beside him Eomer. And King Elessar. They were dressed as for the harvest feast in their finest garments. They held up their wine goblets for a toast. I could not hear the King's words, but there was joy and contentment on their faces. Eomer's bearish grin. Faramir's lopsided smile. Elessar's serene gaze. Despair engulfed me. Forgotten so soon! Had they abandoned hope of finding me even now? Hot tears stung my face.

"You see, Lady Eowyn, you see?" she crooned.

I forced myself to look again. Ah, my beloved husband! It was Faramir. Yet not as he would be now. That tunic was discarded soon after the feast last year. Gravy was spilled on it and the spot would not rub out. I remember tearing it up for rags myself. This was ... last year then? I studied the scene very carefully. Yes.

"Perhaps your husband was growing tired of you and now has an opportunity to seek a more youthful wife?" she suggested helpfully. I kept the discovery of her deception to myself. Fara's stratagems were coming back to me. Do not let the adversary know the extent of your knowledge, especially if you have found them out. Let them assume you have the same motives. Let them assume you can be persuaded emotionally, but never reveal your true emotions, nor the essence of your power. Avoid revealing what you value, what you fear most to loose.

"I think you know what I can offer you, " she purred.

"What is your price?" I asked plainly. She sighed dramatically,

"Your Rhorric lack of subtly is disappointing. I had hoped you had learned enough from the Steward's celebrated diplomacy to entertain me with artful negotiation."

I despised her making any mention of my husband. As if she knew him! And I despised us both for allowing her to deceive me. To have me doubt him, if only for an instant.

It would never happen again, I vowed.

"What do you wish me to do?" I asked contritely.

"Tell me where they keep the palantiri! I know Elessar possesses Orthanc's stone. It is keyed to this one and helped me show you what you now know. Where does your husband hold the stone his father used? And have they yet recovered the stone from Osgilliath?"

"Lady Serkewyth, I do not wish to disappoint you further. Artful negotiation requires time for reflection. I must think on the gift you offer, and the cost of my betrayal."

She nodded indulgently, but I could see she was seething.

"Very well, I will give you until the midwinter feast. Perhaps next time I will be able to find slippers for your large feet."

"Perhaps next time I will show you how to wield my sword."

Chapter 6 The Vial

Belmir was unusually subdued as he returned me to the cell. I broke his reverie.

"Belmir, how does it work?"

"Silence!"

"Belmir, please."

He turned around to face me, and locked my eyes with a contemptuous glare.

"How long must one take it to stop aging?" I persisted.

"Do not be a fool, Lady Eowyn, it will not make you young again,'" he sneered.

"I know that! It prevents age from advancing, yes? How often must you drink it?"

He searched my eyes and laughed harshly, then shrugged.

"The serum should be drunk each day. For each year taken, a score of years is

forestalled. And then ..."

"Eventually it induces craving?"

"No! ... well, not precisely. Wait. I will show you."

He drew a dagger from his belt and carefully sliced a fingertip. A clear liquid with a slight pink tinge dripped on the blade.

"Almost clear, see?" He whispered, mesmerized by his own transformation.

"Completely clear blood means it is no longer necessary to take it. She no longer needs to drink any of it at all."

"Yet she does."

He shrugged,

"She has become habituated to it as nourishment. She prefers it to food."

"And you?"

"When I need it no longer, I will take it no longer." Apparently, he had convinced himself of this.

"So, (I wanted to be sure of this) how long will you and Serkewyth live?"

"Age will never claim her. Soon, I will be the same."

Deeproot and Lindenfriend roused briefly upon my return and greeted me with relief. They explained, hurriedly for them, that they would soon be falling into a state from which they could not be aroused until spring. I panicked. Being virtually by myself in the cell chilled me beyond reason, to be caged alone has been ever my deepest fear. Moreover, I had so many questions, so much I needed them to help me understand. To decide. I begged them to stay awake, but it was beyond their nature.

Virtually alone, I gathered resolve to survive until midwinter. It was not so bad as it could have been. Indecision kept me in continual conversation with myself. It was as if I had been split into two, and therefore not truly alone. I was, however, my own adversary. For several days I was convinced that I should steel my resolve and refuse the serum. Belmir spoke the callous truth. It could not make me young again. And I must not betray any knowledge of Gondor, however minor. I did not know to what purpose she would use the location of the palantir, but I surely knew her character.

Then I felt that if I had any chance of escape, I must let her think she had won me over. I must allow her to believe that she could control me and wait for her complacency to afford me an advantage. The drink itself would enable me to maintain what health and strength remained, toward whatever time in the future I might be able to struggle against her. It could be a very long time. Furthermore, what harm could she cause, knowing the location of the second palantir? It was in Minas Tirith with the first! It was clear she had looked for it in Emyn Arnen, and could not find it there. I speculated that Denethor's misuse had clouded the ability of it to be located as well as mastered. Though the reconstruction of Osgilliath had begun twenty years ago, it would continue for some time. Many arcane artifacts had been recovered, but no palantir as yet. So on all accounts I could tell her nothing advantageous.

In torment I wavered to and fro, and back again. I could no longer keep the faces I loved at bay. Gazing at beloved Faramir, and my dear brother opened the floodgates. I envisioned my children, each in turn, with deep longing. Lothi and My brother and their family and Arwen and Elessar and their son, Tarynth and Beregond and their children, Sam, Pippin, and theirs. Dear Merry and his wife, Finduin, Delianth, Nyliss, Sobak, Legolas and Gimli. All who had become dear. Thus passed the time. I was fed, I exercised, I argued with myself. I wept. Belmir came infrequently in turn with the other guards, and when he did, he would not be drawn out again.

Midwinter. This time I was given a green gown with matching slippers. The gown was intended for a much larger woman, but the length was good, and the slippers fit. I was bound again. There were more guards now. Four here, but they made reference to more. The feast proceeded much as before, except that Belmir ate less and drank a great deal of wine. He was slumped into a stupor by the meal's end. This did not dishearten Serkewyth in the least. She was giddy with anticipation.

"And now for your entertainment."

If it was the palantir again,this time I would be ready. I would look carefully for details. I was determined not to succumb to her trickery.

We came inside the same room, and she awoke the seeing stone.

Faramir. In the court of the King, with Elessar beside him, holding a document. There were dark hallows beneath my beloved's haunted eyes. A new hint of gray at his temples, lines etched deeper around his mouth. His skin was chapped and weathered by the sun and wind, more severely than it had been when he was a ranger. His hands were also weathered, the nails bitten to the quick, the cuticles torn. Ai, what had I done to him!

Presently a well-born family came before him. A husband and wife, between them a lovely daughter. She was delicate and graceful. Glossy black hair, luminous gray-green eyes. He did not look into those eyes with desire. I saw that. But with kindness, and shyness almost. She did not meet his gaze at all but looked beyond his shoulder, hopeful, intent. Ah, husband, I thought, how lonely you must be! You certainly have no need of a dowry on which to build a fortune. No need to establish heirs. But she is so young! At least I know you will be kind to her, and patient.

My heart felt run through with a sword.

Beloved Fara you think I have abandoned you. Well, the required year has passed. This is your right. Nay, your recompense.

I forced myself to look for every detail. Yes, the document had a blue seal. Her parents, YOUR PARENTS, Silima, were moved to tears out of pride and joy to have you placed in such an advantageous match. You must understand, there was no sign of Elboron in the palantir, not even a shadow. I did not know it was to him you were about to be betrothed. He was standing, I now realize, beside his father. Just outside of the vision, with love and desire in his heart.

The scene faded.

I wept forsaken tears.

Gradually I became aware of Serkewyth's painted face scowling at me. She was provoked by my reaction.

"How can you weep for him, foolish woman! Can you not see he abandons you?"

"You are mistaken, Lady Serkewyth, I have abandoned him!" I wailed.

"Calm yourself! she hissed in disgust, "You must now decide what you mean to do!"

I stood before her so long unresponding, I thought she would strike me again. She began to pace and lecture me on the inconstancy and treachery of men in general and my husband in particular. She railed against many things I suspected more related to her own experience than mine. Fathers who put aside the women of common unions for more advantageous marriages, children left unacknowledged or placed beneath the rule of legitimate heirs. It was at this moment, and perhaps this moment only, that I felt pity for her. It was certain she had never been able to trust in love.

She promised me that when I had earned her trust I would be allowed vengeance, against my husband, against the King, against all of Gondor if I wished. But it might take a very long time. She proffered the vial.

"What I can tell you of the palantiri will not be of much use to you, if at all, Lady

Serkewyth," I cautioned. Better that she should know now.

"Tell me, then I will decide if you must make further payment."

And so I told her what little I knew, and watched her face carefully. She was unmistakably disappointed, but, to my amazement, proffered the vial again. I saw no other option now.

No aid would come from outside.

"Give it to me."

Chapter 7 Sons

Further payment was demanded. I was relieved not to be returned to the cell, but the price was high. I was pressed into her service as a kind of hobbled, inept charade of a "handmaiden". Serkewyth strove ever to learn what weakness would break me to her will, and she supposed that, my having betrayed a prideful nature, this humiliation would unravel me. Meticulous in every detail of her appearance, if I wound her hair too loosely, or did not lace her ties just so, she slapped my face or yanked my hair from its roots. But it would have been a grave error to perceive her as the spoiled child she acted. I was often provoked, but two of her guards were never far from her person, and I did not want her to see me as a threat. She did indeed command arcane power. Her guards were under her absolute control. I had seen her perform several spells, mostly obscurings, and compellings. Occasionally she placed the vial on a table and left the room briefly. Belmir would reach for it, and it would elude him. When she returned, there it was again, and she locked it away.

Belmir's volition weakened further beneath her compelling. She humiliated and mocked him repeatedly, then wondered aloud why he was not more responsive to her capricious favor. Yet her treatment of him, as with many aspects of her behavior, revealed a festering sickness in her spirit. For his part, he grew ever more rancorous and sullen, except for taking a great gloating satisfaction in my accepting the serum. It was as if his low opinion of me was finally vindicated.

"Soon," he taunted, "She will have you wielding your sword against your own kin."

The sword in question was still at her hip, and I wondered I had not tried to regain it, guards or no. Gradually I became obsessed with the idea.

It occurred to me that she had not yet used a spell of compelling to bind me to her will. I would have recognized it's feeling of contamination. Had she tried? Was I more able to resist because of my age, or my experience? Did she think I would be more effective as a willing accomplice? Whatever the answer, I do not think she would go to such trouble to convince me of her purpose and power if she could but compel me to her will.

Infrequently she left Belmir and me alone, shimmered through the rock and was gone. Never for more than a few days at a time. There was little to do in the few rooms to which we were allowed passage but wait for her return, and drink the serum which she left carefully measured out. Though Belmir, at least, was permitted arms drill with the other guards. I persisted in attempting to gain him as an ally, but was insulted for my efforts.

"What can you offer me, Lady Eowyn? Amnesty? A triumphant return to Lossarnach to live as a guest in my brother's house, to eat at my brother's table, to do as my brother bids?"

"Belmir, truly, what does she offer you here?"

"Is that not obvious, lack-wit? Time - she offers time."

"To what purpose?"

"Mordor lies unclaimed. With time we will retake it and make it thrive, from there we will take Gondor. Lossarnach is a bean patch compared to what she will award me."

"You believe this!"

"And what do you believe? That if you escape, the great Prince of Ithilien will put aside his new wife to welcome you home? You would do better to pledge your sword to Serkewyth. To ally yourself to her, as you pretend."

Upon returning she would spread out her latest spoils. Obviously contraband goods. Jewels, gowns, gold and silver implements. To what houses had she gained access? What had she learned there, what seeds of antagonism had she sewn? Whose sons were discontent or had fallen out of favor? Which veterans and guards grew restless in a time of peace?

Later she left us for a longer time. I thought that perhaps she had been gone long enough for Belmir to regain something of his own purpose.

"Belmir, I can see she compels you against your will."

"It was not always so." He replied bitterly.

"How was it?" I asked quietly.

"Once I was eager to do her will. I held some feeling for her."

"Belmir, I think you could be free of her."

"Yes, foolish woman, you think many things I have no interest to discuss."

"I think she must be near to you in order that she may compel you to her purpose. If you could persuade her to take you with her when she leaves, perhaps you could escape."

"And then what? You have no understanding of such things. Outside I am nothing. Be still or I will strike you, I have will enough for that!"

"Why do you say "nothing"? Surely there are many second sons who lead purposeful lives. And women, are we not often like second sons? Many of us as capable as our brothers and husbands, but never born to lead? Perhaps there is no fairness in this. Perhaps it should change, but not through the path Serkewyth offers. There are many paths to power. Indeed, there are many kinds of power as effective and more worthy."

"Hold your tongue, woman, or I swear you will regret it."

It was not long before I had a final glimpse into her Palantir. She had spent a great deal of time in her study and demanded that I bring her a carafe of wine and a goblet. Two guards stood outside of the portal, which she left open so that I could leave the tray just inside. I approached quietly behind her standing before the palantir and saw many shifting scenes. I recognized great halls and small holdings. Random streets and intimate settings. Presently the orb turned a flaming red and I saw Faramir's hands gripping an answering orb, his face above in a rictus of anguish. As I screamed, she whirled around in rage.

"You sneaking half-wit. I told you to leave it at the door!" Then her mind began calculating.

"Well, are you satisfied with your treachery?"

"No, my lady."

"You will pay for it."

"Yes, my lady."

She paused for emphasis. Then pretended to muse.

"Well, I think we can agree that the Steward of Gondor follows a hopeless path." Another dramatic pause.

"Your sons, how many do you have?"

I did not permit myself an answer.

"Three, did you say? I have been trying to select from among them, perhaps you will assist me, and persuade them to our purpose. The second son seems an obvious choice. Headstrong. There discontent can be so easily nourished. But the heir himself is ripe. It will be many years before his father will yield stewardship to him, I think. And his training has been excellent. He commands admiration and respect as a captain. His stratagems would likely lead any army to victory. Very useful. But the youngest ... is he not rumored to have considerable gifts? Far sight stronger than his father's? I have heard the King himself secretly asks his aid to read the hearts of men. It would give me great satisfaction to help him channel those powers to better purpose.

I thought then of Eriol, he would be thirteen now.

I swept forward and snatched my sword from the scabbard at her waist and held it to her throat.

"You will leave my sons alone!" I screamed.

Her guards were upon me in an instant, with blows sharp and painful. Soon I saw only darkness.

Chapter 8 The Wind

Eternity is the smallest cell. Time has no meaning outside of a context of events. When even pain inflicted and suffering endured can not longer leave a mark on the mind, the void swallows it whole.

I knew I was succumbing to madness.

The future promised endless sameness. An exquisite nullity. I could refuse to drink the serum, but it would only begin another cycle of weakness, then helplessness lapsing into unconscious, next, arousal to find I was given the serum in my sleep. And finally, to face another decision: to refuse or no. It made no difference. There had to be some other choice. I just could not grasp what it could be.

This. This was my perfect, private nightmare. To be caged. Not just in space where death would eventually bring relief. But caged also in time. How long, I wondered, how long before I could not die? Belmir never answered my question - how long the process took. A force-fed eternity imprisoned alone. I marveled at the mind that could devise such perfection. She did not come to it by accident. She had studied me and discovered my secret greatest fear. And she knew what I dreaded most to loose.

This cell was smaller. There was no green glow here. I paced it's perimeter in eight steps with my hand dragging against the wall, to find my way in the utter blackness. After several rotations, the walls became slick and smooth with the blood from my fingertips where the rock tore away the skin. This was something to feel for awhile. A new pain. Anything new was a comfort in this sameness.

No food. Here they came with the serum only. A bucket of water for a bucket of waste. There seemed to be six or seven different footfalls. And distinctive scents. I saw no faces. No voices answered me.

I begged to know how long I had been there, or at least the season. I asked for pity, for a small sliver of soap. I asked for a torch or a candle end. I pleaded for the simplest of things. A blanket. I was given a filthy scrap infested with lice. I worried that if it came I would have no appetite for it, but I asked, nonetheless, for a crust of bread.

One time I woke to his sharp bitter scent, his footfalls.

"Belmir! Please, please, Belmir... Put an end to this, have mercy."

"Forgive me Lady Eowyn, I cannot."

"Ah, please, please. Here at the throat. It will be swift."

"I am sorry, kin-sister, forgive me."

Was this Belmir? Now I could not be sure. But whoever it was, he did not come again.

It began with imagining the wind on my face. My first memories. Riding before my father on his saddle. His strong grip, his reassuring scent, the thunder of hooves. Yes, the wind in my face. I concentrated on this until the cell had no stale odor, no closeness of air. Just the rushing wind. Then I tried to envisage my mother. Her warmth and softness. The strength of her hands. The daydreaming tunes she hummed. The deep pools of her eyes, now sweeping over me, caressing me, now so far away. I remembered everything I could of the Eastfold. Every detail. And my brother, Eomer. My first true friend. His teasing and torment, his love and loyalty. My protector and champion. My first horse master, lore master and weapons master. How I discovered that he won every game by cheating! How his roaring laughter echoed everywhere. How shy he was with women before he met Lothi. His very awful courting poetry. Then I moved on.

I remembered the miserable journey to Edoras after my parents died. The magnificent court of Melduseld. Theoden, my uncle and King. How afraid of him I was, how soon he won me over. His every attention, his kindness and wisdom. How he tempered sternness with gentleness. His rare indulgence in allowing me to learn, along with my brother and cousin, how to read and write.

Theodred, my sweet cousin. How he welcomed such a wild little intruder with patience and forbearance. How thrilling were the games and adventures he devised for my brother and I. Every scrap and scrape every peril and enterprise, every predicament and providence. I reconstructed every face in detail, every voice, every nuance of expression. Every scene I could remember. How the light fell, the scent of the air. The grit on our clothing, the ring of swords in the practice yard, the rich pungent smell of the stables. Each detail I savored over and over. When times grew harsher, I moved on again, testing what I could examine. Only light. I would examine only what banished darkness.

Faramir. Quiet ally, confidant, beloved, devoted husband, father of my children. Friend. Believer in me. No. No. No longer. Leave this alone. Leave it be. Better to think of the children.

Elboron. Bittersweet memories. How I thought so soon to loose his perfect little self. How he bounced in the sling, to and fro. How he fretted and fussed until he could look out and discover the world, and marvel in it. How he crawled and walked and hid in every nook and closet for the joy of being rediscovered. How he grew into a studious child, grave and thoughtful as his father. His persistence. His dogged pursuit of truth and fairness. When he did not answer the call to dinner, I looked first in the library. When he did not come for breakfast, he had fallen asleep in the library. The day he came to me troubled. He wanted to know who his father was. He had learned an ambiguous history. My betrothal and marriage to Boromir. I called Faramir and we reassured him. He was his father's son. His name the only gift of his uncle, a good man. And how fine a man Bori had become. Weighted with the responsibility of the eldest son, but tempered with humility. First child of our joy.

Ivanneth. Born right at the harvest feast, under the full swell of Ithil. Sweet first daughter. Hair kissed by the sun. Elven blue-green eyes. Even in sleep she was moved to laughter. My little adventurer. Smothering her rag dolls with kisses and hugs, and riding off on a broom horse to slay monsters. Ivanneth who could read the hearts of men as keenly as her father, and likewise sought the goodness there. Who cared for every living thing. Who stamped her little foot insisting she was not too young to be included in the foaling. Who informed me, before I ever thought to ask her, that she would not be a shieldmaiden, she would bring peace. Spinner and weaver, and grower of fruits and flowers. Lover of harmony and of beautiful things. Daughter of my heart.

Aldamir. Tree jewel. Free spirit. Always moving, climbing, exploring. Leaping ahead without thought to danger. Half of his childhood, it seemed, spent in the healing houses needing something mended. Upon many visits to Edoras he was mistaken for a son of Eomer's - so alike he was to his cousins. At home in the woods, a frequent and welcome guest to the Princedom of Legolas in the north. His skill with the bow surpassed even that of his father's. He was less on my lap than the others, and weaned sooner. Often away, but ever returning to shower me with kisses, and to take my breath away with his hugs.

Finduilas and Theodwyn. I often thought of them as "the little grandmothers" - their namesakes. Fara called them Norui and Hethui to their expressed annoyance and private pleasure. Born together yet hardly alike as sisters. Norui "misty" grave and solemn as any well-bred Gondorian lady with sleek black hair and cool gray eyes. Introspective and disciplined, delighting in things well crafted and refined, whether poetry, art or music. Hethui as "sunny" and brilliant has her fair hair and green eyes. Most rapturous in discovering a smooth white stone or a bluebird's feather. Free with affection and emotion. Skilled in dancing and swordplay. Most admired by the Hobbits for her dramatic storytelling craft. And together, their lovely voices harmonizing with their grandmother's harps. So unlike - and yet like the two headed troll, they often finished each others sentences. When we recovered from the surprise of their birth, Fara gifted me with a twin sling fashioned in supple leather, so that the whole family could continue our walks in the forest. Bori striving to match his father's stride, Aldamir sprinting far ahead, Ivanneth perched on her father's shoulders, the twins bouncing at my hips.

Eriol. He who dreams alone. How can I not think of him as I have of the others? Yet the memory hurts more. He was so young when I went away. Not yet thirteen years. So quiet a babe, so dreamy a child. I had worried about him. But Fara seemed to think he was himself much the same as a boy. He brought to me things I had been searching for. He drew me away from worries to sit with him by the falls. He said the things I was thinking aloud. He came between the quarrels of his brothers and sisters without a word. Just a heedful look would change their course. Dearest child who was so much a part of us, and ever in his own world.

What other faces to conjure? The Entwives.

I wanted to tell Deeproot and Lindenfriend how sorry I was I had failed them.

It was so stifling! No air.

The wind on my face. Minas Tirith, looking east at the wall. The song of Eagles. The wind through the trees in Emyn Arnen, bringing fresh scents. Home. The rush of our waterfalls. The healing hot springs, the deep restorative waters. A welcome respite for friends. For them an escape from formality and convention. For us a white banner on which anything could be writ. All welcomed, all accepted. This truly became what Faramir envisioned, a reflection of the best of our people, of many people. A peaceful garden.

Ai, I cannot keep turning him away. He comes unbidden. Now I see him in the nursery, on his hands and knees, a horse for the children to ride. The most absurdly endearing approximation of an ill-tamed stallion! And here he brings from the forest a basket of the black mushrooms I crave. And here, in rapt wonder, our family keeps vigil as he proudly presents the sunset behind the Henneth Annun. Now I am kneading bread dough. He comes and puts his hands at my waist, and enjoys the rhythm of my movements, and I feel his breath on my neck.

It came always to the same thought. Why did Faramir try to use Denethor's Palantir? Surely Elessar had tried to use the Orthanc Stone to locate me. It was likely Serkewyth had some powerful charm of obscuring worked on this place. But the stone in the tower was known to be cursed or tainted by Denethor's end. Was Faramir's determination to seek me so strong he would risk his own sanity, and if so, what of his new wife? I could not reconcile it. Ah, no more. Begin again. Remember Papa.

Each memory carefully pried out, some I long supposed forgotten. This dream life. I sought to give it some order. I was through all places and sights, sounds and scents in this endless cycle and was imagining my family again. And here was Aldamir. ...

"Momma ?..." (Now and again they called to me.)

"No, Eriol, I have not come to you yet, you must wait your turn."

"Momma, I have found you! Do not worry, we will come for you now. You must hold on but a few days more. Oh Momma, we searched - so many, for so long! Father will be so relieved - I must tell him - I found the place - I found the way in! How do you endure such darkness?"

"Eriol?" If it was he, his voice had changed. Yes, it would have deepened by now!

"Yes, Momma, I came through the Palantir from the Tower of Ecthelion. Father tried twice to use it to search for you, though he cannot get past the flames on the surface. Just now he meant to make another attempt . The King was very wroth with him, they were arguing, he threatened to detain Father under guard. The King knows the harm it causes father to use it, but father is heedless of the pain, and the risk to his sanity.

Listen carefully. Momma, the palantiri, as far as I am aware, they have been used as tools of vision only. But just now I have proved, as I have suspected for some time, that they are something more. I can travel through the stone and into the vision it shows. I followed your light Momma. Your light is so warm and lovely still! It lead me right to you. Momma, do you hear me still?"

"Eriol, come to me if it is truly you!" I could not be sure of anything. Hope was so tenuous here and always betrayed. I reached my hands toward the voice.

"Ah, no Momma, I cannot. I came here as a ... a shadow self. Though you can hear me you could not feel me. My form is still before the Palantir. Father and the King are mounting the stairs, they realize I have slipped past them. Soon they will find me and be alarmed if I do not inhabit myself, so I must return. But - do you understand? We will come for you, I promise."

"Wait! Eriol, you must not come here, she will ensnare you! None of you should come. Promise me! Swear it!"

His soft laugh rippled like a faint wind.

"I could scarcely keep Father away, surely you must know that! He would face any peril to bring you home again. We all would. Do not concern yourself for our safety. We will take care. Do not trouble yourself with any more worries. Rest peacefully."

"NO. WAIT!"

"Soon, dearest Momma, soon."

Chapter 9 Blood

No, another trick of the mind. Not Eriol, no, I thought. Why would they come now? I do not think they would know me. I do not think I would remember how to share thoughts with another mind. I stood and paced. If they came for me I could not go back to my beloved home and family. Perhaps my brother would take me. No, I would not be a burden to his family. If I asked for a cottage in the Eastfold, then. I do not think he would deny me that. I could have a small garden. No, I do not even know if I could eat now. I could sit by a warm fire. No, I would never be warm again. I could ride and feel the wind in my hair. No, my hair is matted and full of lice. It must be cut off.

But I think it WAS Eriol. Yes, I heard his voice. Well, I reasoned, had I not also heard the voice of the Witch King laughing at me? The voices of Theoden and Theodred calling me to the Great Golden Hall? I knew my wits were addled. I paced in the other direction. Faramir is coming for me? Oh, yes, Eowyn. You have heard his voice often enough too, vowing to find you. You cannot let go of this foolish hope. Your wits are more than addled, they are poisoned. They devour you from within. Do not hope!

I was roused from fevered dreams with a searing pain stabbing at my eyes. A torch. I was blinded by it's brilliance.

"Rise, Lady Eowyn, quickly. Make haste!"

He did not bother to bind my hands. He seemed to be driven by his own purpose. Not compelled.

"Belmir?"

He half dragged, half lifted me before him, a dagger pressed to my throat.

"Have you come to finish me? Ah, Belmir, I knew you would be merciful."

I tried to welcome the coolness of the blade, but somehow it felt wrong.

"Finish you? Hardly. You are worth much more to me alive. Are you not called the Shield Woman? Well, now you are my shield."

I thought that his brain must be more addled than mine.

"Belmir, I keenly doubt that I could wield a sword, much less lift one. I can barely see!"

"You will do fine as you are."

" I cannot keep up this pace. May we not go more slowly?"

"No indeed. I must get to the Rauros. She did not think they could find the portal, but the Palantir shows their boats leading directly toward the foot of the falls. She denies what her eyes tell her."

"The Rauros?" I tried to remember the map. I could not sift through his ranting.

"Who found the portal?"

"Apparently that runt pup of yours!" Eriol! Not a dream.

"Please, Belmir, do not harm him. He is but a child!"

"Harm him? Do not trouble yourself on his account. He comes with half of Ithilien! Your brother has the western Emyn Muil surrounded with his riders. On the east, the White Company." The desperation in his voice edged upward.

"Listen, Belmir. Put away the blade. When they come, bring me to them. I will warrant that you helped me escape. That you protected me from Serkewyth. If I avow this, they will let you go."

I could hardly believe my own voice. Even now I strove to prevail upon his better nature.

"I think not. Why would you seek to absolve me?"

"You asked me to forgive you. I heard you. You called me kin-sister."

I could go no more, and so I simply sat down.

"Rise," he railed frantically. "Rise or I will strike you!"

I stared as best I could into his face. I was beginning to make out features.

"Then strike me, coward! I would have the satisfaction, at least, of making poor sport." He blinked at me in disbelief. He pivoted on the balls of his feet, agitated. Finally, he laughed. He crouched at my side.

"I do recall you from Minas Tirith, you know. Your amused us all with speculation. We wondered whose babe you swung proudly, like the wildings bear them, from your hip. We thought the new Steward would be eaten alive! It was said you oft went riding with the Queen, and betimes outdistanced her! That you demanded outright, the prize of Ithilien from the King. We were all a little fearful of you."

"How disappointed you must be." I reflected sourly. He laughed again.

The knack of conversation was drifting back to me. But the art of persuasion was of more urgency now.

"Belmir, if we get into the hills, and they see me as your prisoner, you will be in grave danger. The archers of Ithilien will bring you down straight away. "

His shoulders slumped wearily, and he spoke earnestly.

"Suppose, even for a moment, that I trusted you. What would you have me do?"

I had no opportunity to tell him. Four of Serkewyth's guards were upon us before I could rise. He resisted and was punished accordingly. His sword was taken. He had dropped the dagger, but no clang announced it's fall. The flat of the blade hit my foot. I quietly slipped it into the torn hem of my shift while they struggled with him. Then they jerked me to my feet and marched us back toward the direction from which we had come.

"Belmir, I whispered. How is it she released you from her thrall?"

"She is sorely distracted. She struggles to keep the other entrances obscured. It demands her focus. Will your boy will find them, do you think?"

"Silence! Do not speak!" a guard growled. I shook my head to show I had no answer.

I was brought back to the cell and thrown to the floor inside. The guards slammed the door and retreated with Belmir.

Total darkness once more. The unlikely scent of Balsam.

"Faramir?"

"Yes, Eowyn, I am here."

"... Your shadow self?"

"Yet a little more than shadow, I hope," he replied in a ragged whisper.

"Faramir, where is Eriol?"

"He goes ahead with my guard. Elboron is with them, and Aldamir. They will not let him come to harm."

"Ai, no! She will take our sons!"

"Peace, beloved, she will soon be finished." He seemed resolved. I suddenly remembered.

"Faramir, where is your lady wife?"

"Eowyn." He sounded alarmed, his voice trembled. "You are here with me. Here you are." I felt his hand touch my shoulder tentatively. Then my cheek. I stepped away from his contact.

"Do not withdraw, Eowyn. I beg you! Your reproach - I know how much I deserve it, for my failure. Only let me hold you once. I cannot bear for you to turn me away without one embrace."

His desperation mirrored my own, achingly. But I was so ashamed.

"No. I am filthy, Fara. I am crawling with vermin. You cannot see me, or you would know. I know I was senseless and careless, I did not heed your warning, and now you must keep faith with your wife ... Your little wife ... "

"Eowyn, Eowyn. Do you not remember? YOU are my wife. You and no other. Twenty nine years! But these last three I have had no other purpose, no other thought, I swear, than to find you." His arms were now wrapped around me. I rested my head on his shoulders for a moment that seemed longer than that endless time. Was it three years only? Could I have imagined the vision in the Palantir? He had never lied to me before. He seemed so certain. But a more urgent thought would not let go.

"Faramir, please. Our sons are in grave danger. She means to ensnare them, she has told me as much. She has several men in thrall to her purpose. And now we are locked away."

"Not so, dear lady wife. I have disengaged the lock. Come. "

He took a torch from beneath his cloak and lit it from the first one upon the wall. I pulled him toward Serkewyth's chambers. He hesitated, then drew his sword and took my hand. As we approached, we encountered several men in combat and several more lying wounded. We wove past. The banquet chamber was empty. Likewise Serkewyth's sleeping chamber. There were no sentries in evidence. I pulled him on toward her study. We met some unseen resistance at the entrance, but beheld this scene.

Serkewyth's hands were resting on Eriol's shoulders. His head bowed, his body still. Belmir, his sword restored, was engaged in combat with Aldamir. Belmir had this advantage - many years of honing his skill within the body of a young man in his prime. Faramir leaped forward, but could move no closer than Elboron, who was also prevented by the unseen force. We watched helplessly. The combatants were well matched, and soon both were making hits. There was a gash in Aldamir's shoulder from which his blood pulsed. So much blood and he would soon tire! My eyes were drawn to a small movement. Eriol was lifting his chin toward us. nodding. He smiled smugly. Elboron and Faramir dashed through the barrier. Faramir dove through toward Eriol and Serkewyth, Elboron toward Belmir. Serkewyth drew my sword and held it at Eriol's throat. She smiled tauntingly at Faramir. He halted, too far away to disarm her before she could kill Eriol.

Now Elboron was fighting in tandem with his brother, and soon sliced a deep gash in Belmir's thigh.

Belmir looked down at himself, fascinated.

He dipped into the wound with his free fingers.

"Clear! It runs clear! Serkewyth! Ha!" he roared, crazed and triumphant.

In an instant they were upon him to finish him, and I cried out.

"Hold your swords! He has been ensorcilled by this woman's will."

Elboron frowned, and Aldamir looked to him for further instruction. He shrugged and thumped Belmir on the head with the hilt of his sword.

But now, more guards were entering from the opposite passage, and Elboron and Aldamir were again engaged.

Serkewyth never faltered. I could see she meant to withdraw through the rock wall with Eriol. Her eyes were locked on Faramir. He stepped to the side to prevent her departure. A shrill laugh escaped her.

"I will grant an opportunity to practice your diplomacy, Steward. Your wife has proved a disappointment, but this boy is a prodigy. You may take her back, such as she is. But this one, you have no appreciation of his talents. They will be squandered in your hall. Let me ..."

As she was taunting him, I removed the dagger from my hem and hefted it once, moving quietly into a clear path to to her shield arm. I narrowed my eyes to focus my vision, then let it fly. She squealed as the dagger stuck into her wrist. As she peered at the wound, she let her sword arm drop just enough for Faramir to leap forward and strike it from her grip.

"YOU. WILL HAVE. NOTHING. MORE. FROM ME. BUT. THIS." my husband raged, as he drove his sword though her heart, again and again.

Eriol dashed toward the Palantir and put his fingertips upon it with concentration. Soon the wall shimmered and a Rhorric landslide came through. Eomer and his men dispatched the remaining guards, and quickly began tending to Aldamir and the other wounded. My brother put on a very indignant face.

"Hardly worth mounting a rescue, sister! You could have given us some challenge , at the least ... Serkee! How long has it been? Will you not answer me? I suppose you preferred me as a young renegade ... no matter ... Oh, hello, brother, I see you have broken a sweat for once. Remarkable!"

Faramir stood yet above Serkewyth's body, cold and still as stone.

Eomer came forward to embrace me, crushing me against him.

" Agh, you smell terrible!" I knew he was teasing, yet it was true. Not just filth. I had a sharp bitter scent and a nagging worry. I held up my hands toward the light and saw then that my skin was tinged a faint green. He saw my expression and sought to amend his words.

"Lothi is waiting outside to take care of you, and Ivanneth is here too. Come."

"Brother, wait, the Entwives!" I shouted.

Eriol sprang up before me, resting a hand on my arm.

"I know the way, Momma, I will show them."

Some of Eomer's men followed him.

My legs gave out and I slipped to the floor, struggling against a swoon. Faramir was upon me at once.

"Lie her down. Mind her head. Bring that cushion."

He covered me with his cloak, his palm on my forehead. Elboron was hovering above me, his brow furrowed. After a few deep breaths I felt somewhat revived. It was then I noticed that Faramir had in his belt one of my rosewood daggers. Swiftly I drew it out and sliced through the heel of my palm.

"Ah, no, Eowyn, what are you doing? Beloved, please. No!" He grabbed my wrists firmly, and Elboron bent to staunch the flow. Eomer gripped my shoulders. All three exchanged horrified glances, examining my face for signs of lucidity.

"Red." I breathed in relief. " Still my blood flows red."

Chapter 10 The Gift

The final part of my story took place but a few weeks ago, yet both exhaustion and being weaned from the serum confound my recollection. I wept for no reason and troubled dreams woke me frequently. I do remember Fara never left my side, but coaxed me to eat and rest. Lothi rubbed ointment into the cuts on my hands and feet. Ivanneth massaged my hair with geranium oil, and teased out the nits and matted clumps. Soon I was asking to go home again, and when my husband hesitated I remembered again the woman in the Palantir. No, no, he insisted gently. He had no other wife. He only wanted me to be well enough to travel.

"Mama, perhaps you saw Bori's wife." Ivanneth mused pensively. "Can you describe her to us?"

"Bori has wed?"

They exchanged worried looks again. They were fearful of introducing any new idea to disorient or agitate me. But they told me about your wedding and how it gave hope to Ithilien in a very dark time.

"Why, what has happened at home?"

More concerned glances. I loathed this coddling. Ah, my lost wits, they must mean me.

"Rest now, beloved wife. I think we have discovered who you saw in the Palantir. I know you will be quite pleased with the wife Elboron has chosen."

On the day of our departure for Ithilien, the Entwives came to me, and asked to speak to me alone. They had been reunited with their husbands and were hopeful to establish a new bond of trust. They planned to meditate on the matter for a year or two, being that it required an urgent resolution.

Deeproot and Lindenfriend came forward with great ceremony, proffering a vial.

EOWYN ENT-FRIEND. WE WERE NOT ALLOWED THE CHOICE TO GIVE OR WITHHOLD OUR SERUM OF LIFE WHEN IN CAPTIVITY. WE WILL THEREFORE GIVE IT TO NO MAN IN OUR FREEDOM. BUT TO YOU ALONE, WE OFFER IT, IN OUR GRATITUDE. UNTIL SUCH TIME AS YOU WILL AGE NO MORE.

No, I thanked them, no. Two years already I had taken the serum. Two score of years added to my life were gift enough that I might accompany my husband into his old age.

Chapter 11 The Sufficient Jewel

We had only this left to resolve. Our misplaced remorse. But this was easily done. Faramir believed that I never meant to leave him. I believed that he always meant to find me. And now we will be together until death takes us, one or the other. I have no other explanation for why I refused the gift. I will not live an eternity, but I have imagined it. It is desolate.

Jewels and their significance are woven into every aspect of Gondorian culture, from the time of the Simarils. First valued for their power, now for their beauty also. In ages past, among kings and princes, now among half the sons in Minas Tirith, there are many "-mirs". Even our second son is "Aldamir". But in truth, I think it strange to name a child for a jewel or a gem. A bright bit of stone, with whatever power, is but a stone, not a thing alive. (I pray Elessar forgives this small treason!)

But often have I considered my husband's name. "Fara-" has the elvish meaning "sufficient". Yet even here the nuance of meanings is influenced by culture. I have observed that in Gondor, one often describes as sufficient something which is merely adequate. Such as "sufficient compensation". But in the Riddermark, "sufficient" is a great compliment. A "sufficient meal" is what the guest proclaims when he can take no more. It implies being satisfied with abundance. Sufficient. Yes. He is that.

"When winter comes and boughs are bare, and all the grass is gray

When winter comes and starless night o'ertakes the sunless day

When storm is wild and trees are felled, then in the bitter rain

I'll look to thee, and call to thee, I'll come to thee again."

JRR TOLKIEN (Song to the Entwives)


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